


Where the Long Walk Ends

by Nova_Bomb



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Have some feelings, It's sad but it's happy I promise, The Calling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 21:25:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3825622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nova_Bomb/pseuds/Nova_Bomb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grey Wardens pay a heavy price for what they become. Though the Joining is the source of their power, it is also a death sentence. The Calling comes for them all eventually, and not even the Warden-Commander and the King of Ferelden can run from the inevitable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Peace

**Author's Note:**

> I started this story before DAI was released so it's slightly AU. ie. no Warden going looking for a cure to the Calling.  
> I hope you enjoy!

It was the summer of 9:54 Dragon, when Ferelden Warden-Commander Taryn Amell began dreaming again. At first she simply mistook the nightmares for shadows of her past, but as they grew more and more vivid she knew that her Calling was upon her. It didn’t exactly take her by surprise; the taint had been running through her veins for twenty-four years now, and not all Wardens were lucky to survive that long. Some of her own recruits that had heard their Calling before her. Taryn's time was long overdue.

The Calling was another secret kept from most of Thedas, so as not to scare away potential recruits. Even most new Wardens were not told until they had become well adjusted. The truth was that Grey Wardens were not immune to the taint as the world believed; surviving the Joining merely delayed the onset of the Blight sickness. When the nightmares begin again, that is when a Warden knows that they don’t have much time left.

Taryn had not yet told her second in command, Constable Andrin Graves. Preparations would need to be made before she left for the Deep Roads. He was a worthy successor; Andrin had worked hard to climb his way through the ranks. He was twelve years her junior, but the man had much wisdom that many Wardens older than him could do well to learn.

Sitting behind her large oak desk, Taryn’s quill scratched neatly across the barren pages of the Warden-Commander journal. These journals were passed down from leader to leader, but after the massacre at Ostagar, many volumes had been lost so Taryn had been forced to begin anew.

Over the years, she had filled it with as much knowledge as she could offer for whoever came next. She spoke of the Blight, the best ways to kill darkspawn, the discoveries, and the mistakes. All of it was important. The next Blight would not come before her death, so Taryn needed to leave all she knew to the next generation of Grey Wardens.

There was a sudden knock on the heavy wooden door to her office and Taryn barely looked up from her work. “Come in,” she barked.

A moment later, a young Warden stepped through the doorway, holding a roll of parchment in hand. “Commander, I have a message for you,” he informed her hastily, “It bears the royal seal of the King.”

Taryn looked up briefly as she dunked her quill in the inkpot. “Just leave it on my desk,” she dismissed casually, before returning to her writing.

The Warden quickly obeyed before giving a small bow and taking his leave. Apart from the scratching of her quill and the occasional crackle from the small fire in the hearth, the room had become overbearingly silent. Taryn’s gaze flickered to the scroll on her desk. There had been one person whom she had told of her Calling, the King of Ferelden: Alistair Theirin.

Taryn had not left Denerim on the best terms with Ferelden’s newly crowned King after the Archdemon was slain. In the chaos and challenge they had faced together, the two young Wardens had fallen in love. Their relationship had been naive and reckless, leaving Taryn's heart scorned when the inevitable had come to pass. Duty could not be forsworn for love, and even in her despair, Taryn had known this.

As the appointed Warden-Commander, Taryn had begun the painstaking task of rebuilding the Ferelden Order – though not without help. A few Grey Wardens from Orlais journeyed to Amaranthine to aid her, along with Sten, Zevran, and Ohgren who had stayed for a short time.

Keeping her mind busy, Taryn had been able to put Alistair in the back of her thoughts. Short correspondences would come from time to time, some professional and some passionate, most of which ended up ash in the hearth. Taryn kept her responses curt and impassive, until he eventually mirrored the sentiment.

It wasn’t until news of his engagement to a highborn lady of Gwaren, almost two years after his coronation, that the scars of their love had come back to haunt her. However, as Warden-Commander, Taryn could not afford to show weakness so she was determined to conquer the past.

Though she had declined the invitation to the royal wedding, Taryn had managed to work up the courage to write the King a proper letter. She congratulated him on his engagement, wishing him well and asking of the woman that would soon become Queen. Taryn had written about the Grey Wardens, how the order was growing and her occasional struggles with command. The words came easier than she would have imagined; perhaps it was less his affections but his friendship that she had missed.

After that things had become easier, falling into a comfortable rhythm between them. Only a few personal letters came each year, but Taryn looked forward to them each time. The King would write about the hassles of ruling, the endless decisions and frightfully boring councils. Taryn admitted that being Warden-Commander wasn’t entirely dissimilar, but with a lot more paper work than he probably endured.

The young King had been a fair ruler thus far, though Taryn couldn’t be sure how much of it was his own influence and how much was that of his Council, but she was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. Arl Eamon had done much to aid him in transitioning into the difficult role.

By the time his first son had been born, Taryn felt only joy for him and Queen Meridia. They named the boy Duncan and in his letters the King often spoke of how the young prince would grow. Two more children had come since then, a daughter and another son of six years this fall.

Taryn had been to Denerim only a handful of times since the end of the Blight, but each time she was kindly welcomed by the King and Queen. Her last visit had been nearly seven years ago and her stay had made quite the impression on the young Princess Sophie.

“Father, I don’t want to be a princess anymore!” she had announced gleefully, “I want to be a knight!”

Sophie was a sweet young girl, with her mother’s curly auburn locks and her father’s warm eyes. Duncan also shared the same hazel eyes and looked most like Alistair with his short blonde hair. Stocky and tall, the young Prince had been struggling to master the lance – aspiring to compete in tourneys when he was old enough. Taryn regretted not visiting in time to meet his youngest son, but unfortunately there was no time left for it.

As soon as she was sure that her Calling had truly come, Taryn had sent a raven to Denerim. She told him that it was her time to take the Long Walk, letting him know that she would be departing for the Deep Roads within the month.

Setting down her quill, Taryn took the parchment in hand and broke the wax seal before unrolling it. The letter was notably short and his handwriting was messy as it had always been, with ink smears blotching the parchment in various places.

_Taryn,_

Generally, his letters were addressed to Warden Commander Amell, but Taryn overlooked the lack of formality and continued reading.

_I did not think this day would come so soon. I would ask if you were certain, but you’re more a Grey Warden now than I ever was. However, I fear my own Calling has come as well._

Taryn read and reread his words. Though she had never forgotten that the King was still a Grey Warden, at no time had it occurred to her that he would have to face the Calling himself one day. This news made her chest ache painfully, but Taryn continued to read.

_If it would be alright, I’d like to accompany you to the Deep Roads, for one last adventure. I pray that you will say yes.  
Alistair_

Her hands trembled slightly as Taryn set the parchment down on her desk. Upon first instinct, she wanted to write an angry reply, denying him his request. He was the King of Ferelden; how could he simply give up and leave his family behind?

However, the King had been a Grey Warden longer than her and the death that the taint brought on was neither swift nor gentle. It was why Grey Wardens decided to journey into the Deep Roads, to face death on their own terms instead of wasting slowly away. As much as Taryn did not want to watch Alistair die with her in the Deep Roads, she did not want his family to endure his listless decay.

Taryn closed her Commander’s journal and shoved it aside before pulling out a fresh sheet of parchment. Dipping her quill in ink, her hand hovered above the vellum for a moment as she contemplated how to address this letter. Throwing formalities to the wind, she addressed it not to the King but to her old friend Alistair, and began to write her reply.

****

The wind gusted strongly up high on the battlements of Vigil’s Keep as Taryn watched the royal procession slowly approach. She certainly hoped that the King’s guard would not be escorting them to Orzammar – the lavish display would attract bandits to be sure. The last thing Taryn wanted was to be slain before they could reach the Deep Roads and die like proper Grey Wardens.

Taryn felt a presence behind her and Andrin’s tall shadow fell over her as he came to stand at her side. “Warden-Commander,” she greeted curtly, with a hint of a smile in her tone.

He shot a slanted look her way as he released an exasperated sigh. “No one should be calling me that yet.” His voice trailed off quietly.

Andrin was a close friend and he had taken the announcement of her Calling none too well. When she had first asked him to take her place he had tried to insist that he wasn’t ready for command, but Taryn had been grooming him for years, knowing this day was inevitable. She had assured him that there was no one better to take her place. It had taken much convincing, but Andrin eventually agreed and Taryn presented him with the Warden-Commander’s journal.

The sky was covered in a thick blanket of clouds, hanging so low that they seemed within reach from the tall battlements of the Keep. Though the smell of rain was strong in the air, the ground remained dry for now. The Waking Sea was known for its turbulent storms, but Vigil’s Keep was far enough inland to protect them from the brunt of the bad weather. The Keep rested on the edge of the Hafter River just before it began to widen as it drained to the Amaranthine Ocean.

Taryn hoped that the Royal party had not encountered foul weather on their journey. As they drew closer, she could make out the crimson mabari on gold of the King’s banners, flapping in the wind.

“I read the journal,” Andrin spoke suddenly.

Taryn cast him a skeptical glance, raising an eyebrow. “I told you not to spoil it all at once,” she jeered lightly.

The Warden shrugged passively. “It’s quite the tale – difficult to put down.”

Andrin was a scholar at heart and had read through the Keep’s entire library in less than a year. His pen was certainly mightier than his sword; not that he wasn’t a skilled warrior as well. On more than one occasion Taryn had taken advantage of his talents, when a deft hand was needed for diplomatic endeavors. It didn’t surprise her that he had gotten through her notes so quickly.

“Thoughts?” she asked curiously.

A smirk came to his lips as he kept his eyes on the horizon. “I think you made half of it up,” he jested.

Taryn let her expression turn grim, her face a mask of seriousness. “Well it’s not too late to find a replacement for you, Constable,” she assured him.

Andrin’s eyes grew wide as he turned to look at her, but Taryn didn’t let him fumble for long, letting a wicked smile twist her lips. A breathless laugh burst forth from the Warden that took Taryn by surprise.

“That’s something you didn’t include in your journal,” he insisted, “How to master the Commander glare.” Andrin’s eyes sparked with humor. “The bards will sing songs of Commander Amell and her steely gaze. Terrifying to behold, some say it turns recruits to stone.”

Taryn gave him a light shove, unable to contain her own laughter. Attempts were made to regain her “steely gaze,” but his words only served to humor her further. She would certainly miss him, along with the rest of the Wardens, once she was gone. Over the years they had formed a rather close knit family, to replace the one she had lost after the Blight.

Their mirth quietly died down as the royal cortege drew closer, and Taryn knew that she should make her way down to meet the King. However, before she could take her leave, Andrin had spoken up again.

“Is there anything you regret?” he asked softly.

Taryn was caught off guard by the question and remained silent as she took a moment to consider. He certainly couldn’t be referring to her part in selecting the new King of Ferelden, for she had mentioned nothing of their romance in her journal. Either way, it was not a decision that Taryn regretted; Alistair was a good King.

There was no end to the small mistakes that she wished she could undo. The larger ones were much more difficult to consider. Most of the regrets that came to mind revolved around the Blight, but even if she had the chance to do it all again, Taryn wasn’t sure she would change a thing.

Perhaps what pained her most was the envy she occasionally held for the King. He had a family; a wife that loved him and children to brighten his life. After their falling out, Taryn had kept her heart sealed shut, not daring to let another in to hurt her as he had. Life was too uncertain for a Grey Warden and she could not afford to love someone who could be lost so easily.

Zevran used to visit from time to time, and Taryn had taken advantage of his presence to satisfy her physical desires, which he had been more than happy to oblige. It was not love – Taryn did not dare to allow it. Though after a while the assassin stopped visiting and she could not blame him. Zevran needed more than she could give him, so he left Ferelden.

Taryn turned to Andrin, releasing a deep sigh. “I used to think that duty was more important than love,” she admitted. “We Grey Wardens live short lives, so keep your oath but make sure you take time to enjoy life.”

Before Andrin could reply, Taryn turned and left him standing on the battlements. It did her no credit to dwell on her shortcomings this close to her end. Taryn forced the regret from her thoughts and made her way down to the courtyard to greet her old friend.

As she stepped into the yard, the banner-men were just riding beneath the portcullis, a fanfare of gleeful trumpets announcing their arrival. The horses and men were armoured in polished plate mail and as they formed two parallel lines, the King of Ferelden rode up the center.

King Alistair was clad in gleaming gold armour with a modest crown resting above his brow. His hair was longer, with a few streaks of silver, brushed back flat by his crown and a light beard covered his jaw, making him look quite noble. As soon as his eyes picked her out among the other Wardens, a warm smile lit up his face.

Following closely behind the King, Taryn was surprised to see Prince Duncan. He had changed much since she had last seen him; a man grown now, his resemblance to his father at that age was rather haunting, save for the long shaggy hair that fell just above his shoulders. Unlike the King, this was Prince Duncan’s first trip to Vigil’s Keep and his eyes were wide as he took in the sights. Though the King had not mentioned that his son would be accompanying him, Taryn was glad to see him regardless.

“Your Majesty, it’s good to have you back at Vigil’s Keep,” she greeted politely as the King climbed down from his horse.

“It’s good to be back,” he replied as he relinquished his mount to one of the stable hands. Walking up to Taryn, they braced forearms in greeting. “I swear this place gets more impressive every time I visit,” he commented as his eyes swept over the fortress when they stepped apart. “Are the watchtowers new?”

“Finished replacing those four months ago,” she confirmed.

The King nodded thoughtfully. “The darkspawn should march on Amaranthine the next time the Blight comes around – this Keep is far more defensible than Denerim.”

They could spend hours discussing the integrity of the castles of Ferelden, but Taryn did not wish to bore Prince Duncan into a coma. Looking past the King, she addressed the young man once he had climbed off of his horse. “Welcome to Vigil’s Keep, my Prince. I hope it’s everything you expected.”

“It’s amazing,” he gaped before turning to look at the King. “I can’t believe you didn’t bring me here sooner, Father.”

Alistair made a scoffing noise as he smirked. “I couldn’t have you seeing such splendid castles and deciding to run off and become a Grey Warden, now could I?” he joked.

Taryn looked over her shoulder as she heard Andrin approach. “My second in command, Constable Graves, would be more than happy to see you through the Keep and answer any questions you might have, my Prince,” she offered.

Prince Duncan shot a look towards his father who simply nodded, and the young man took off with Andrin. Taryn watched the next Warden Commander and King of Ferelden walk off together. Turning back to Alistair, the King’s guard had begun dismounting as well and Taryn quickly remembered her manners.

“Come,” she encouraged, “You and your men must be weary from your travels.”

Dinner was already in the making when the company entered the large dining hall, the delicious smells of roasting meats, fresh bread, and boiled vegetables drifting up from the kitchens. Usually the arrival of royalty would dictate a little more formality when it came to feasts, but since there were no noble lords present, Taryn didn’t think the King would mind the lack of fanfare. The King and the Prince were seated at the head of the table with the highest ranking Wardens, and the rest of the King’s guard was intermingled among the Wardens.

The royalty had traded their ceremonial armour for silken doublets of red and gold, but Taryn remained clad in her light Warden armour. There was hardly any clothing she wore apart from her armour, as comfortable as a second skin – she had been wearing it for so many years.

Prince Duncan did most of the talking, asking all kinds of questions about the Grey Wardens. Taryn answered as many as she could, apologizing when she could not reveal the secret of the Joining, and leaving other questions for Andrin to answer.

The King was raising an incredulous eyebrow at his son. “Have you forgotten that I was once a Grey Warden too?” he inquired. “I could have answered most of those questions.”

Prince Duncan shot his father a skeptical look. “Yes, but these are real Grey Wardens.”

Taryn grinned into her goblet as the King looked mildly offended, but when some of the more inebriated Wardens laughed heartily it turned his mood.

“Well I’m glad that things haven’t changed much since I was in the Order,” he mused as he looked to Taryn, “I think Commander Duncan would have been proud to see what you’ve built here.”

A slight smile came to her lips as she bowed her head in thanks. “I did not know him very long, but you spoke so well of him, I had to shoot high,” she insisted.

When the food arrived, the conversation persisted through the meal. There was roast lamb, pigeon pies, boiled potatoes, carrots, and an array of fine cheeses that the King had brought from Denerim.

Between advising which cheeses the Warden-Commander should try, the King was telling stories of his past in the Order. Some Taryn had heard and others she had not. The rest of the Wardens seemed to greatly enjoy hearing such tales from the King of Ferelden.

Andrin was still attempting to stave off his laughter at a particular story as he spoke up. “Your Grace, if I might ask, what of Commander Amell?” he pried, “You must have stories of her before she became the Hero of Ferelden.”

A sly look lit up the King’s face then, and Taryn shot him a disapproving glare. Not that she expected him to sully her name irreparably, she just would have preferred to die with her dignity intact.

“Stories about Commander Amell,” the King pondered aloud, “You mean like was she always so serious and stoic?”

Much of the clamor seemed to have died down as several Wardens were listening closely, trying to hear the King speak. Taryn poured herself another cup of wine, keeping her expression passive.

“You should have seen her back when she was a recruit, no older than two and twenty,” The King began speaking. “Sheltered Circle Mage that she was, standing lost in the centre of the army camp in Ostagar, your Great Commander was shaking in fright.”

A light blush coloured Taryn’s cheeks as a chorus of laughter erupted from the ranks of Wardens who had heard the King’s words. It was true – back then the only home she had ever known was the Circle tower, so the outside world had been rather daunting by comparison.

The wine was making Taryn feel a bit bold, so she retorted with an embarrassing tale from the King’s past. “If I’m not mistaken, Your Grace, were you not the one who nearly soiled his breeches at the battle of Denerim?” she jeered.

An excited murmur rose up among the Wardens and the King looked dumbfounded while the Prince was struggling to hold in his laughter. “The Archdemon is a perfectly acceptable reason to soil one’s breeches,” the King sniffed indignantly.

Taryn could still remember the beating of the Old God’s wings against the flaming sky and its roar so loud that it seemed to shake the very ground beneath them. With teeth like longswords and spines as tall as spears, seeing it again in her nightmares had not been pleasant.

Offering a small smirk, Taryn inclined her head in agreement and decided to try to alleviate some of the King’s embarrassment. “It’s true,” she commented, “Even Sten, Qunari warrior of the Beresaad, had shrieked like a small girl.”

More laughter followed, and the King seemed to relax. By the time dessert had been brought out, there was more talking and laughing than eating. A few Wardens had brought out instruments and were playing merry songs. The tune of a lute and a pipe carried throughout the hall and some of the Wardens were even banging their tankards to the beat of the music.

Taryn was helping herself to a small lemon cake when the King stood from his seat and held out his hand to her. “Will the Warden-Commander grace me with a dance?” he asked, excitement sparking in his eyes.

Raising a skeptical eyebrow, Taryn set the cake down as she regarded him. “Your Majesty, I’ve been to half a dozen of your Royal Balls and you’ve never once asked me to dance,” she reminded him.

A dazzling grin lit up King Alistair’s face. “You shot down every Lord who asked,” he taunted, “And besides, I didn’t want you to embarrass yourself in front of the Nobles.”

Taryn tried to scowl but couldn’t help but laugh with the rest of the Wardens who had overheard. The King wasn’t wrong – Taryn had never learned to dance as the highborn ladies did, so she had declined many requests at such formal events. She wasn’t made for ball gowns and lace fans – Taryn much preferred her armour and staff.

Still, it would hardly be appropriate to deny the King’s request, so with a roll of her eyes, she accepted his hand and he led her to the open floor between tables. There was much hooting and hollering coming from the Wardens and Taryn was beginning to feel like more of a school teacher than a Commander, with the childish soldiers she was leading. As many of the eyes in the hall turned to the King and the Warden-Commander, Taryn began to feel a bit nervous – she really didn’t dance.

The King seemed to sense her rising anxiety as he rested his palm on the small of her back and took her hand in his other. “Don’t worry, Taryn,” he spoke quietly as a grin tugged at his lips, “just follow my lead.”

At first they simply rocked from side to side with the quick beat of the music, but when the King’s feet began to move, it took all of Taryn’s grace to not trip over her own boots in her haste to keep up. They galloped across the floor and it didn’t take long for the Warden-Commander to figure out that their feet moved with the rhythm of the music. Despite herself, Taryn soon found herself grinning with mirth as they bounded around the room. However, just when she thought she had gotten comfortable, the King would change things again. He removed his hand from her back and spun her in a circle beneath his arm before bringing her back into his arms. The King grinned down at her, obviously taking great amusement in her eager attempts to keep up.

Taryn would only allow him to keep the upper-hand for so long before reclaiming it for herself. She quickly separated from the King, turning to face the Wardens, chanting in time with the beat of the music.

“Who takes the vow to end the Blight?”

The soldiers replied in a deafening roar. “We Grey Wardens! We Grey Wardens!”

_With hearts of steel,  
And wills of might._

_We Grey Wardens!  
We Grey Wardens!_

_Who darkspawn dread,  
And maids delight._

_We Grey Wardens!  
We Grey Wardens!_

_We fear no Horde,  
We fear no fight._

_We Grey Wardens!_  
_We Grey Wardens!_  
  
By the end of the chant, the music had fallen quiet and nearly the whole hall was on their feet, cheering and hollering. The very walls of the Keep seemed to shake with their combined voices and Taryn was sure that the patrol guards could hear them from the ramparts.

The King was grinning incredulously as he looked to the Warden-Commander. “Now that’s new!” he remarked. “Did you make that up?”

Taryn immediately scoffed as she smirked back at him. “I’m no bard,” she protested. “but the Wardens have a lot of men and women who have talent for more than slaying darkspawn.”

The King could only nod in agreement. “So they do.”

It was several hours before the residual excitement finally dissipated, and Wardens slowly began taking their leave – some stumbling more than others. Even Taryn found herself struggling not to yawn as the conversation had shifted to politics, which was probably her least favourite topic of discussion. Andrin was far more enthralled by such notions, and was battering the King with a slew of questions. The King didn’t seem all that keen on the conversation either, but tolerated the interrogation quite well.

When he had finally reached his breaking point, Taryn hid her smirk as the King feigned a large yawn, stretching his limbs in exaggeration. “Well I think I had best get some sleep,” he insisted, “The night isn’t getting any younger.”

With that, the King’s Royal guard escorted him and the Prince to their guest chambers, while Taryn left for her own quarters. As she walked the sleepy halls, she tried not to dwell on the fact that this was her last night in Vigil’s Keep. The walls had become so familiar now, having spent more time here than she had in the Circle Tower; it would be hard to leave it behind.

Taryn climbed the narrow, winding staircase to her bedchambers and removed her armour before slipping beneath the soft blankets of her bed. The shutters of the window above her bed were open and a thin crescent moon shone bright in the clear sky. Pulling the covers up to her neck, Taryn released a deep breath as she closed her eyes, hoping that the nightmares wouldn’t disrupt her rest greatly.

****

Despite the bright blue sky and gleaming sun, the mood was somber throughout the Keep the following morning. It had been nearly a week since she had announced her Calling, but the melancholy atmosphere made her feel as though she had to do so all over again. Somehow it felt worse knowing that the King was leaving with her. While he had already said his goodbyes to his Queen and other children, Taryn could scarcely imagine how Prince Duncan was feeling.

When Commander Amell stepped out into the courtyard, there were at least a hundred Wardens all waiting – most in the yard and some watching from the battlements. Taryn had not prepared any kind of speech, but she felt that she needed say something. Looking around the Keep at all the familiar faces, she had been present for each and every one of their Joinings. Taryn could not have asked for a greater group of dwarves, humans and elves; men and women; and friends.

However, before Taryn could speak, the King emerged from the Keep and her words were suddenly lost to her. His gleaming golden breast plate had been traded for standard blue and silver Warden armour and an ordinary longsword was belted to his hip. The crown was no longer on his head but in his hand, along with his mighty, jewel encrusted sword.

Taryn watched as he walked over to his son and handed both to him. The young Prince was fighting to keep his composure, but the sorrow plain in his eyes made Taryn’s heart wrench. The King was murmuring soft words to him as he pulled his son into a tight embrace. They stepped apart and the King clapped his son on the back encouragingly before coming to stand beside Taryn .

Struggling to keep her own emotions guarded, she looked back to her Wardens and took a deep breath. “When I first joined the Grey Wardens, I had only read tales of their strength and valor. After the massacre at Ostagar, I thought I would never get to see it. Looking at this place now, what all of you helped create, my heart is glad to have seen it.” There was so much more that Taryn wanted to say, but she had never been a woman of many words. “May the Maker watch over you all, until the day we meet again.”

With that, Taryn climbed onto her mount, laden with supplies, and the King followed suit. As they steered their horses towards the gate, Commander Andrin’s voice rang out through the courtyard. “Your sacrifice shall not be forgotten, and one day we shall join you!”

The rest of the Wardens began calling out in turn as Taryn and the King rode beneath the portcullis and out of the Keep. War horns were sounding at their backs, and the cacophony of voices had degraded into four shouted words. “We - shall - join - you!” Keeping her chin high, Taryn had to fight to keep her dignity in front of the King until the voices faded behind them.

For a long time, neither of them spoke – both far too caught up in the grand farewell they had received. Taryn suspected that the King was thinking of his family. Considering how strongly she felt for her Wardens, Taryn could not fathom the heartache he was bearing. His children were all far too young to lose a father.

The North Road was relatively quiet, only the passing of the occasional merchant caravan apart from them, and the horses plodded along at a gentle pace. Taryn wasn’t exactly in a terrible hurry to reach the Deep Roads and an easy pace would fare better for their weary old mounts. When most Grey Wardens left for the Deep Roads, they were sent off on horses who were no longer fit to ride into battle and when they reached Orzammar, they were typically donated to someone in need of them.

It wasn’t until the high noon sun was beating down overhead that the King and the Warden-Commander spoke. Sweat was beading across their foreheads as they sweltered in their armour, with little shade along the road and not a cloud in the sky to offer reprieve.

The King was the first to voice his discomfort. “Perhaps we should take a short rest,” he suggested, “So the horses don’t get too worn out.”

Taryn did her best not to smirk, highly doubting that it was the wellbeing of their mounts that he was concerned about. “Of course, Your Grace.” She steered her horse off the road towards a generous patch of shade beneath two tall trees.

The King pulled a face at her words, but did not comment as he followed. There, they dismounted and tethered their horses to a root protruding from the earth, removing their bits so they could graze a while.

Taryn retrieved a small loaf of bread from a pack on her saddle and broke it in half, handing a piece to the King. She took a seat against the trunk of one of the trees and set her long staff on the ground beside her. The King mumbled a small thanks before settling against the other tree, nibbling on the bread quietly.

The day was much milder beneath the cover of the thick canopy above. A gentle breeze stirred the leaves high in the swaying branches, causing the shade on the ground to shimmer like an ever changing mosaic. Releasing a deep breath, Taryn took a bite of the bread before closing her eyes and leaning her head back against the rough bark of the tree. It was just another thing she was going to miss once they were confined to darkness and stone in the depths of the Deep Roads. It was a pity that there were no darkspawn roaming the surface – Taryn would have much preferred to die in the light of day.

The King’s voice suddenly stirred her from her thoughts. “You know, you don’t have to be so formal now that we’ve left Vigil’s Keep,” he chided.

Taryn opened her eyes, tilting her head slightly. “My King, I-”

“Like that, there!” he exclaimed, cutting her off. “I’ve got no throne and no crown out here. I’m just a Warden again, like you.” His eyes were pleading. “Please, Taryn. Let me be _just_ Alistair.”

It was not a simple task to cast off such defining titles, even now at the end. When she had first left Denerim, it was all that Taryn had clung to in attempts to keep her heartache at bay. Not Alistair – the King of Ferelden. It had been the mechanism that she used to put distance between her and the man she once loved. Though Taryn’s heart had long since mended, the habit had been quite ingrained into her and it would be difficult to shake. Regardless, she would do her best to heed his wishes.

“As you say, Alistair,” she replied quietly.

He seemed to relax more after that. Once they finished their lunch, they climbed back into the saddle and continued their journey. The conversation seemed to flow much easier between them. Taryn asked of Alistair’s family in Denerim; whether or not Princess Sophie was still adamant to become a warrior, how his youngest was faring, and how Prince Duncan was handling his new responsibilities as he got older.

Taryn was content to let him do most of the talking, simply happy to listen. The Coastlands were a tapestry of hills and valleys with the occasional stream that wound between the highlands. With the heat, they stopped often to water the horses and to refill their waterskins. They rode until the sun had dipped below the horizon, taking their dinner on the road. There was much temptation to ride through the night while the weather was cool, but from the looks of Alistair, it had been a long time since he had done so. They steered off the road and made camp by the shelter of a large rock in the side off a hill.

While Taryn began constructing a small campfire, Alistair struggled with the tent. “Maker’s breath, I have been King far too long,” he muttered in annoyance.

A smirk of amusement came to her lips as she piled several pieces of firewood onto the growing flames. “Why don’t you unsaddle the horses and I’ll setup the tent,” she offered.

Alistair was having none of that. “And suffer the endless ridicule it will earn me? I think not. If I can govern a country, I can set up a tent.”

Taryn laughed, shaking her head as she tended to the horses herself. Removing their tack and setting it aside, she tied them on generous leads so they would have enough space to graze. By the time she had finished brushing both of them down, Alistair had finally managed to setup the tent, looking rather proud of his handiwork.

“I’ll take first watch,” she offered as she settled in front of the campfire, resting her staff across her lap.

Alistair looked hesitant, but not entirely ungrateful. “Are you certain?”

Taryn gave a small smile as she replied. “You look like you could use the rest,” she insisted.

The former King looked a little embarrassed as he breathed a laugh and began unbuckling his armour. “You’re not wrong,” he admitted, “This is all going to take a while to get used to again.”

Once he was left in a linen shirt, light leather breeches and his armour piled neatly, Alistair entered the tent. “Wake me if you need anything.”

“I shall,” she replied, “Sleep well.”

With that, he disappeared within the canvas and Taryn released a small sigh. It was rather peculiar spending this much time with Alistair – probably the most since the Blight. Of course she had spent more than a day in Denerim the few times she had visited the Royal Palace, but she had never been alone with him for so long. It was just a little strange.

Giving her head a firm shake, Taryn was quite positive that she was overthinking things. Turning to her right, she used her magic to gather a few handfuls worth of sand, suspending them in the air to create an hourglass to count down the hours until it was Alistair’s turn to take watch.

It was a nifty little trick that she had learned many years ago from an Orlesian mage who could conjure all manner of splendid tricks. From hourglasses with no glass, to delicate flowers made of paper that drifted through the air, her magic was used for beauty and entertainment. Taryn had never managed to master the flowers herself, but somehow she had gotten by fine without it.

With nothing better to do, Taryn reached into her pack and pulled out a book that Andrin had given her before she left; ironically enough, it was the Chant of Light. Commander Amell was not known for her strong sense of faith. Taryn simply found it hard to believe that a merciful and gentle God could turn away from His children with all the suffering that existed in the world. Prayer could not protect against the blade of a foe, so the Commander had always advocated her strong sense of self-reliance, instead of putting one’s fate in the hands of the Maker.

Still, Andrin had insisted that she take the book anyway. “Please read it,” he had implored, “It will bring you more comfort than you may realize.”

Releasing a small sigh of resignation, Taryn cracked open the book and began reading. The scripture was familiar, having read the Chant of Light back in the Tower, as was required of her. However, a couple pages in there was a short note jotted in the margin of the page. Holding the book closer to the light of the fire, Taryn squinted to read the messy handwriting.

_I had always thought I would grow up to be a soldier like my father, but after the battle of Denerim – seeing the last two Grey Wardens lead the charge against the darkspawn – I knew that I wanted to be something more. Thank you for giving me a chance._

The note was signed by Warden Martell. He had been one of the first volunteers to join not long after the end of the Blight.

Taryn quickly flipped through the pages and saw that there were many notes scattered amongst the verses, left for her by all the Wardens at Vigil’s Keep. Not wishing to skip ahead, she returned to her place in the book and continued reading. Some remarks were heartfelt, others more humorous, and every one of them brought a smile to her face.

By the time she looked up to see that her sand had stopped falling, Taryn was nearly a quarter way through the book. She hastily tucked it back into her pack before walking over to wake Alistair. It took more than a couple firm prods and strong words, but the King slowly staggered out of the tent, grumbling as he began pulling his armour on again.

“Andraste’s knickers, how did I ever manage this before?” he complained.

Taryn didn’t bother taking off her own armour as she crawled into the tent. “You weren’t so old back then,” she teased before disappearing behind the flaps.

“You’re two years older than me!” he argued.

A wicked smirk spread across her lips as she could practically feel Alistair’s glare burning through the canvas. Laying down on her bedroll, Taryn pulled the blankets over her and closed her eyes, falling asleep almost immediately.


	2. In War

The next day proceeded much the same as the first. They ate a quick breakfast, packed up camp and hit the road, covering as much ground as they could before the sun was directly overhead. Once again it was another clear day with no respite from the harsh sun, so they took a short break during the hottest hours of the day. Taryn would be thankful once they reached the Frostback Mountains, though by then their journey would nearly be over.

Today Taryn did more talking than Alistair, who listened intently as she spoke. After reading the memos left by her Wardens in the Chant of Light, she talked about many of them and all the fond memories she had gathered over the years. The reminiscence brought her both peace and sorrow, but Taryn knew that the Wardens would get along fine without her.

When dinnertime rolled around, Taryn pulled a wheel of cheese from her pack that she had been saving before tossing it to Alistair. “It’s smoked Gruyere that I got on a trip to Orlais a few months back,” she explained.

Sealed in orange wax, it had been a challenge to hide in the cold cellar of the Keep, away from the ravenous mouths of her fellow Wardens. They would devour any and all food they could get their hands on.

Alistair gave an appreciative grin as he dropped the reins, his horse content to keep pace, as he pulled a knife from his belt and carved a slice from the wheel. He took a small bite and made an appreciative hum as he turned to look at Taryn.

“I take back everything nasty I said about the Orlesians,” he concluded, “They make awesome cheese.” Alistair took another bite, but quickly shot out a hasty “Thank you,” around a mouthful of cheese.

Taryn smiled as she inclined her head, giving a quiet chuckle. “I’m glad you like it.”

Once he had swallowed his food, Alistair spoke up again. “This would make a great fondue,” he commented.

Taryn frowned then. “What’s fondue?” she asked quizzically.

Alistair answered once he got over the initial shock of her question, obviously in disbelief that she did not know what fondue was. “It’s hot melted cheese and a bit of wine that you dip bread into,” he explained, “You’d love it!”

Taryn was a little bit skeptical. Cheese was all well and good, but she could hardly imagine the idea of consuming it for a meal all on its own. “I’ll take your word for it,” she chuckled.

A very serious look came to Alistair’s face then as he wrapped up the cheese in cloth before tucking it away. “Then I will save the rest of this until we have some fresh bread and white wine,” he declared, “I will not let you die without having tasted the glory of fondue.”

Taryn guffawed then, having forgotten quite how passionate her old friend was about cheese. “Alright.”

They ended their day a bit on the early side, making camp in a stand of trees. Taryn laid out a few snares in hopes of catching a rabbit for a stew, now that hot food was on her mind. By the time they had set up camp and gotten an iron pot of water and vegetables nestled beside the fire, the dusk had come and gone. When Taryn went to check the snares, she found one with a still struggling rabbit, which she quickly put out of its misery.

She disassembled the snares before bringing the carcass back to the campfire and began cleaning it. Alistair looked mildly nauseated by the entire ordeal but Taryn let him keep his dignity and pretended not to notice – especially considering it was her least favourite part as well. Once the meat was added to the pot, the two Wardens talked quietly for a while until the stew began to bubble.

They ate in silence, content with their meal and the sounds of the night. Crickets were singing in the grass and the frogs trilled amongst the trees. It was all very reminiscent of the Blight, despite the two vastly different people that they had become since then.

A small stream ran near their camp, so Alistair disappeared briefly to wash up and fill their waterskins. When he returned, Taryn couldn’t quite keep herself from gaping. Alistair had lost most of his beard, save for the rough stubble that his knife could not shave and a small patch on his chin. As he walked over, he ran a hand through his damp hair, causing it to stand up in front like it had used to, and suddenly he looked ten years younger.

“It was far too hot with that bushy beard on my face,” he explained, oblivious to her shock.

Taryn found that she didn’t have anything to say about that, fighting against the torrent of memories that his appearance had unearthed. The familiarity was so strong that she felt as though she could drown in it, so Taryn silently reminded herself that he was still King in a desperate attempt to keep herself afloat.

Alistair volunteered to take first watch this time. It would have made more sense for them to take the same shift each night, so that they spent roughly the same number of hours awake, and though Taryn tried to reason with him, he was quite adamant about it.

Releasing a deep sigh she surrendered, but before she could retreat within the tent, Alistair’s question stopped her. “Do you always sleep in your armour?”

“Have you ever heard the expression ‘caught with your trousers down?’” she retorted, “I like to avoid it.”

Alistair rolled his eyes. “There isn’t even a Blight at our heels this time,” he reasoned, “You didn’t sleep in your armour back then.”

Something about his tone put her on the defensive, and Taryn’s response was a bit more terse than she had intended. “Well that was the past.” With that, she disappeared into the tent and climbed into her bedroll.

It took some time for her to fall asleep, and when she did it was not restful. The darkspawn marched rank upon rank in the Deep Roads, sharpening their swords and hammering their armour - ready for war. Somewhere in her mind she knew that it was a dream; the Blight was over and the darkspawn were not amassing an army, but it didn’t help the fear that gripped every muscle in her body as the Horde came marching upon her.

The sound of Alistair’s voice pulled her from the nightmare, but when Taryn opened her eyes, she was startled to wake at sword point. The blade belonged to a wiry man clad with greasy hair and mismatched armour, holding open the tent flap with his other hand. Taryn looked past him to see where two more men stood, one with a sword trained on a very guilty looking Alistair. Highwaymen.

Taryn rolled over and the sword was at her throat immediately. “Not so fast, woman!” the man warned, “Come out nice and slow.”

Glaring back at him, Taryn complied as she calmly crawled out of the tent and pulled herself to her feet. The bandit quickly pulled the small dagger from her belt and tossed it aside. If they had any mind, they would have realized that she was a mage, if not by the staff sitting just out of reach, then at least by the lyrium potions on her belt. Luckily these highwaymen seemed less than astute.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here, lads?” the leader chimed, “A couple o’ Grey Wardens taking a snooze.”

Taryn’s gaze shot questioningly to Alistair, who couldn’t even meet her eyes, he looked so ashamed. He had fallen asleep. Maker’s breath.

“Where are you off to I wonder?” he demanded, “Maybe you’ve got your gold hidden in that armour o’ yours.”

Taryn turned a cold glare on the highwayman. “We have no gold,” she replied firmly, “And our business is our own.”

The man raised his eyebrows mockingly. “Oh, very touchy,” he chided. “Mayhaps we’ll just take your food and your horses, if you’ve got no money then.”

Each word was cropped as she spoke and Taryn could see Alistair watching her closely in the corner of her eye. “No, you will not.”

The man laughed, but his laughter quickly turned to shrieks of pain as Taryn cast a spell that sent a zap of electricity jolting through him. It was not lethal, but the man writhed on the ground nonetheless. The other two highwaymen quickly turned their swords to point at her, gaping stupidly.

Energy crackled at her fingertips as Taryn glared down the other two men. “Anyone else want to give it a go?” she dared.

Shaking their heads sharply, they wordlessly pulled their stunned leader to his feet, taking his arms over their shoulders as they scurried away. Taryn watched them go, not daring to relax until they were out of sight. Only then did she turn back to face Alistair who looked expectant of a scolding.

Taryn kept her anger contained as she brushed past him and quickly put out the fire with a burst of ice from her fingertips. “We cannot stay here,” she informed, “Let’s pack up.”

Though Alistair looked relieved, he would be punished well enough by the lack of sleep as they rode on through the rest of the night. Only once they were back on the road again did he seem to find the courage to speak up.

“Camping on the road, chasing off bandits – it sort of feels like old times again,” he joked quietly.

Taryn smirked as she glanced over at him. “It does. Especially considering you would fall asleep on your watch back then as well.”

 ****

Most of the tension seemed to alleviate after that night, and Taryn and Alistair spent the next few days reminiscing about the Blight. They spoke of the adventures they’d seen, the companions they had kept, and the fine memories they had forged.

Even with all the tragedy and hardship that had come along with the Blight, Taryn couldn’t help but look fondly on those times. The events of the Blight had shaped who she was today; turning a skittish little Circle mage into the respected Warden-Commander she was now. If she could go back to the young apprentice in the Tower and tell her of what adventures awaited her, Taryn would never have believed herself.

Thankfully, the day was overcast and the temperature was quite comfortable as the tall peaks of the Frostbacks had become visible in the distance. They shifted between trotting and walking, taking full advantage of the mild weather.

“Do you remember the time that your mabari left a half-eaten rabbit in Morrigan’s pack?” Alistair asked with a cheeky grin.

Taryn chuckled. “How could I forget? She was quite livid about it.”

“What if I told you that it wasn’t your dog?”

She spun to look at him, her face twisted in disgust. “You chewed up a raw hare?” Taryn grimaced.

Alistair’s eyes turned wide. “No! No! No!” he insisted. “Your mabari ate the rabbit, I just planted the evidence. We were in cahoots!”

Taryn leveled him with an incredulous stare. “You went snooping through Morrigan’s unmentionables?” she smirked with a raised eyebrow.

“Scarier than the Archdemon, let me tell you,” he jeered.

The two of them laughed heartily, catching a few sour looks from a group of passing travelers, but Taryn didn’t care. She was merely glad that the tension between them seemed to have dissipated, and it put her mind at ease.

They came upon a small settlement, Emdale, and Taryn knew that they were almost to Lake Calenhad and the Imperial Highway. She had half a mind to stop and barter for a few more supplies, but when the highwaymen had come she had spoken the truth – they really didn’t have any coin. They didn’t need it where they were going. However, they did stop to water their horses and Taryn was surprised when Alistair suddenly took off.

“I’ll be right back!” he called, before disappearing into a small Inn nearby.

She wasn’t quite sure what he planned to buy without any gold, but paid him no mind as she watched over the horses. The town was small but lively, populated mostly by farmers. Surrounded by swaying wheat fields and a tall windmill standing watch at the edge of the town, it reminded Taryn of Lothering.

Alistair seemed to be taking his sweet time, and when her patience ran out she was about to go in after him when a commotion caught her attention. Two men were arguing rather heatedly: one was likely a farmer but the other looked well-armed and armoured – definitely not a commoner.

Taryn’s brow furrowed as she approached, hearing the armoured man ranting angrily. “Look, if you ain’t got the rest of the coin, it’s not worth my neck,” he growled, “Find someone else!”

With that he walked away, leaving the farmer looking irate. “Bloody mercenary!” he cursed as he spat on the ground.

“Excuse me,” Taryn asked as she tentatively approached. “What’s going on, if I may ask?”

The farmer waved a dismissive hand. “Bah, it’s a bleedin’ drake that’s come down from the mountains!” he explained, “Been killing my livestock and will probably set my fields ablaze with my luck.”

“I could take care of it for you,” Taryn offered politely.

The farmer scoffed. “What, for no less than six Sovereigns? You best be leaving then, cause I can’t spare that kind of coin.”

“That’s alright,” Taryn assured him, “I’m not looking for a reward.”

The farmer gaped at her then, though he still looked skeptical. “So what, you’ll do it out of the goodness of your heart?” he mocked lightly.

Taryn shrugged dismissively. “Just point me in the right direction.”

“Well… alright then,” he replied, looking desperately hopeful. “It’s made a nest on the North end of town, along the bluff.”

Taryn nodded and began heading in the direction he’d given her, hearing him call out “Be careful!” from behind her.

The rock formation was large and jagged, perhaps once a piece of the mountains that had long since been separated.  As she got further to the edge of the wheat field, Taryn passed a few livestock carcasses - half eaten and half charred.

When she reached the drake’s nest, she was surprised to see it awake during the light of day, since they typically saved hunting for the night. It had not yet seen her, so Taryn took her staff in hand and fired a cold spell that covered the drake in ice.

The beast gave a roar of anger as it shook to break the frost from its scales, sharp yellow eyes turning to glare at her. Taryn fired several more hexes from her staff until the drake began to approach. Next she cast a spell that caused roots to burst from the ground, wrapping around the small dragon’s feet, slowing it down. Taryn continued her attacks while pacing her mana expenditure, careful not to exhaust herself too quickly.

The drake opened its mouth full of sharp teeth and blew fire at the roots, weakening them enough to snap. It advanced faster now and Taryn cast an armour spell in case it got too close. When it was within striking distance, she swung her staff around, slashing at the drake with the long blade in the end of her staff. Taryn was rather proficient at both using her staff to cast magic and as a melee weapon, having honed her combat skills after the Blight passed.

A rush of fire erupted from the drake’s mouth, but the flames broke upon the barrier that she conjured. As soon as the barrier fell, she cast another ice spell before thrusting her staff deep into the beast’s hide. The drake gave a final roar before it fell to the ground dead.

Taryn was panting from exertion, but found herself rather exhilarated. It had been far too long since her last fight. Taking a claw from the drake as a trophy, she made her way back to the village.

The farmer was surprised to see her again, and even more so when she had placed the large talon in his hand. “The drake is dead,” she declared with a smile.

A grin lit up the man’s face as he sighed with relief. “Oh, thank you so much!” he said as he began fishing through his coin purse. “Please, let me at least give you something for your trouble.”

Taryn placed a hand on his, halting his movement. “Please, I do not need your money,” she insisted.

“Supplies then!” he argued, “It’s the least I can do.”

By the time Taryn had managed to get away, she was juggling a sack of oats for the horses, two turnips, and half a dozen carrots. Alistair was standing by the horses as she approached staring at her and her luggage incredulously.

“And just where have you been?” he demanded, “Where did you get all that?”

Taryn slung the bag of oats into his arms before packing the rest of the food into her saddlebags. “Slew a drake for a farmer and he wouldn’t let me leave without a reward,” she replied nonchalantly.

Alistair gawked. “And you didn’t invite me?” he whined.

Taryn raised an eyebrow as she untied her horse from the post. “You were still in the tavern,” she argued as a smirk twisted her lips, “Besides, I wouldn’t want you to break a royal nail swinging a sword.”

Alistair glowered at her. “Oh, _ha ha_ ,” me muttered sarcastically.

Taryn was simply giving him a hard time, since she knew that despite his Kingship he was still in fighting condition. It was something that Alistair had taken very seriously even from the beginning. He had not wanted to become fat and lazy like most Nobles, so he had trained every day to keep his skills sharp.

Shaking her head as she laughed, Taryn looked back to him as she nodded in the direction of the tavern. “So what _did_ you hope to buy with no money?”

Alistair held up his right hand, wiggling his fingers. “I traded for a ring I had,” he explained. “Probably could have gotten more. That thing was worth at least fifty sovereigns.”

Taryn breathed a chuckle as she raised an eyebrow. “And what, pray tell, was so important that you needed to sell your ring?” she inquired.

A grin lit up his face as he opened his saddle bag to reveal a fresh loaf of crusty bread and a bottle of white wine. “Tonight, we are having fondue!”

 ****

Alistair was true to his word. They made camp on the shores of Lake Calenhad, and by the time the sun had dipped below the horizon, their cast-iron pot was full of bubbling molten cheese next to the crackling driftwood fire. As Alistair was carving the bread into cubes with his dagger, Taryn sat on a log gazing out over the still waters of the lake. From there she could barely make out the silhouette of the Circle tower against the inky black sky.

After the mage rebellion, it wasn’t likely to have many occupants but it served as a college now, for any mages seeking training and knowledge. The Wardens had kept out of the conflict for the most part, merely dividing their efforts to help civilians caught in the crossfire of the war between the mages and the Templars.

Taryn rested the bottle of white wine on her knee, the remainder of which she and Alistair had been sharing between them. It must have been the tavern’s most expensive bottle, because she never would have expected such fine vintage from a common Inn. The taste was sweet and fresh, and it reminded her of spring.

“Save some for me, will you?” Alistair chided. “Now come on, it’s about ready.”

Getting up from her seat, Taryn walked over to where he was sitting on the grass and handed him the bottle as she sat down beside him. “Alright, so how do we fondue?” she asked with a cheeky smile.

Alistair picked up a small cube of bread. “You just take your bread and dip it,” he demonstrated, before handing her the cheese coated morsel. “Simple as that.”

Taryn took it where the bread was still uncoated, blowing lightly on the steaming cheese. Alistair was watching her with much anticipation, so she bravely popped the whole bite into her mouth and tried not to wince as she scalded her tongue.

“Well, what do you think?!” he demanded.

Opening her full mouth, Taryn tried to breathe out some of the heat before she finished chewing and swallowed. “I think I burnt my tongue.” She hadn’t been able to taste much of anything.

Alistair looked slightly disappointed and immediately handed the wine back to her, which she took a quick swig of to relieve the burning in her mouth. “Well you should wait a minute for it to cool next time,” he suggested, using a cloth to pull the pot away from the fire before dunking his own piece of bread in the cheese.

Taryn leveled him with a glare. “You don’t say,” she grumbled.

This time when she had a new piece of bread, she waited nearly two minutes before she was willing to risk taking a bite. The cheese was a much more manageable temperature on her second attempt. The Gruyere had a strong taste, but the subtle flavour of the wine cut the richness nicely. Overall, it was rather delicious.

Taryn nodded appreciatively as she reached for another cube of bread. “Not bad,” she admitted.

Alistair looked flummoxed. “Not bad? That’s all you have to say?!” he balked, “This is the pinnacle of cheesy perfection! It’s the only good thing the Orlesians ever did for Thedas!”

A great laugh erupted from Taryn’s lips at the look on his face. Surely it wasn’t nearly that funny, but the wine had begun to make her red in the face, and the Warden-Commander had always been a cheap drunk.

“What’s so funny?” Alistair breathed a small laugh.

“You,” she admitted freely, struggling to bring her laughter to bear as she handed him the wine bottle. “I’ve missed this.”

A warm smile lit up Alistair’s face. “Me too,” he replied softly, before taking another sip of wine.

They were quiet for a while as they ate, and Taryn looked out over the lake again. The moon was slowly growing fuller with each passing day and its reflection shivered gently against the surface of the lake. Taryn could still remember their journey to the Circle tower all those years ago, and the horrors she had seen as her friends and peers had been turned to corpses and abominations strewn about the Tower. When all was said and done, only a few mages had survived and Taryn had been in shock for several days after that.

It hadn’t been until Alistair had come to her one night during her watch and asked her if she was alright that she had broken down. The rest of their companions had been asleep as she wept quietly while he held her tightly. Even among the Grey Wardens at Vigil’s Keep, Taryn had many close friends, but no one she felt she could bare her emotions to – it would reflect poorly on her station. In a way, things had been simpler back then.

Alistair’s words pulled her from her thoughts. “Did you want to take a short detour, to visit the Tower?” he asked softly.

“No,” Taryn swiftly declined as she shook her head. “I don’t think there’s anyone there who remembers me anymore.”

Alistair scoffed as he sidled up closer to her. “I don’t believe that for a second,” he insisted. “How could they not remember the brilliant, courageous, beautiful woman who left the Tower and became the Hero of Ferelden?”

Taryn turned to look at him, his hazel eyes burning gold in the firelight and filled with sincerity. Somehow she had been transported back in time. Back to the campsite where she had known her first love, with those same eyes smiling back at her each day and many nights.

Before she could think to stop herself, Taryn leaned in and pressed her lips softly to his, stirring ashes of feelings long since buried, causing them to ignite once more. However, it only took a moment for her sense to come reeling back to her and she pulled away, gaping.

His gaze was unreadable, and Taryn struggled to find her tongue. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t right. I-”

Taryn couldn’t say more because Alistair’s hands were tangled in her hair and her mind stopped working. His lips were moving against hers and her heart stopped beating. He smelled of leather and wood smoke and everything familiar. And though it was wrong in so many ways, the reasons stopped existing.

The kiss deepened and Taryn’s head began to swim with vertigo, losing her sense of gravity entirely. Their lips did not part until they were both winded and Alistair leaned his forehead against hers as they caught their breath. His smile warmed her to the core, but as she gulped the cold night air her mind sobered rapidly.

Taryn put a firm hand on his chest and pushed him back, trying to look severe despite the blush in her cheeks. “That was a mistake,” she affirmed, trying to convince him as much as herself. “It cannot happen again.”

An array of emotions passed through Alistair’s eyes: shock, confusion, and most prominently hurt. “No it’s not, Taryn,” he replied just as determinedly. “I’ve never stopped loving you.”

Taryn was on her feet halfway through his sentence, trying to block out his words. “No, no, no.” She hadn’t spent all these years building up her walls to simply have him knock them down again as though they were nothing but parchment. “You can’t.” He was the King of Ferelden. He had a wife and children. He had broken her heart.

Alistair tried to reach for her arm, but she quickly yanked it away. “No. I won’t.” With that, Taryn turned and left him standing in the campsite. She needed to walk, she needed to think, and she needed to be as far away from him as possible.

Taryn’s feet carried her forward, for how long she could not say, and when she finally collapsed on a large piece of driftwood, the campfire was a small glow winking in the distance. Her composure was in ruins, and Taryn didn’t even know where to begin when she faced him again. She clung desperately to the idea that it was simply the wine that had lowered her inhibitions, but she knew herself better than that.

Over the past week, Alistair had been slowly whittling down her walls and she had been blind to have not realized it sooner. Taryn had thrown herself into the familiarity all too eagerly, unaware of the cracks that her heart still bore. With the scattered pieces of her pride, she had to build her barriers back up again and smother the flame that he had awoken within her. Taryn refused to break now – not this close to the end.

Gathering her dignity, Taryn began her walk back to the camp. The sand pulled at her boots with each step, and the distance seemed twice as long. A sullen looking Alistair immediately got to his feet upon her return. His eyes were so full of hope that it nearly crushed her resolve, but Taryn held firm.

Taking a deep breath she began speaking, keeping her voice firm and professional, though she kept her gaze on her hands – careful not to fiddle. “Alistair, I’m sorry but that was a mistake. I got too wrapped up in the wine and the past, but the truth is: I don’t feel the same anymore.”

His gaze fell as he folded his arms across his chest, his jaw clenching as he stared without seeing. The tension in the air was heavy and Taryn didn’t know what to say, so she idly muttered, “I’ll take first watch.”

Alistair was gone in an instant, disappearing into the tent without a word or a glance. Taking a seat by the fire, Taryn stirred the coals to life with a stick as she released a small sigh. She conjured another floating hourglass, and took out the Chant of Light and began to read, hoping to take her mind off all of this madness.


	3. In Death

The next few days seemed to drag on and on as they neared Orzammar. Their conversations had become rigid and impersonal, lapsing back into the mundane topics befitting of a King and a Commander of the Grey. Alistair was much more withdrawn and any smiles were fleeting and disingenuous. Neither of them dared to speak of Lake Calenhad and whenever the notion crossed Taryn's mind, she crushed the impulse.

As they came upon the edge of the mountains, the oak trees gave way to sturdy old pines, and the streams were cold and fresh as they ran down from the glacial lakes high in the Frostbacks. The uphill journey was hard on the horses and the risk of bears and wolves was a pressing danger, but their mounts persevered and they encountered no difficulty by the time they reached the mountain pass.

The front gate to Orzammar was carved into the side of the mountain and rose far above their heads, far taller than those who had crafted it. The plaza in front of the entrance was bustling with activity, dwarven traders, mercenaries, smiths, and all manner of business.

King Bhelen’s rule had vastly reduced the trading restrictions for surfacers and casteless dwarves. It brought a lot of controversy among the more traditional factions and there was some debate as to whether his rule was regarded as progressive or tyrannical. After King Endrin returned to the stone, Taryn had been instrumental in deciding who would take the throne of Orzammar next, but despite his suspicious rise to rule, Bhelen was the rightful heir.

At the gate, they traded their horses and tent for what food and supplies they could carry before venturing into the mountain. A few armoured dwarves stood guard at the entrance to Orzammar but made no move to halt the Grey Wardens as they entered.

Not much had changed since their last visit over two decades ago. Dwarven architecture was built to last, as demonstrated by the long abandoned thaigs deep in the mountains that had endured for centuries. A few dwarves stopped to stare at the passing Grey Wardens, but Taryn kept the pace quick as they hurried to the entrance to the Deep Roads.

Chances were good that if King Bhelen knew they were coming, he would throw some kind of feast in their honor, and Taryn wished to avoid all the spotlight. Her moment there was over and now she was just another Grey Warden whose time had come.

They stopped just outside the tunnel that lead into the Deep Roads, checking their supplies a final time to ensure they had everything they needed. It would take at least three days to reach the Dead Trenches and hopefully there they would find enough darkspawn to pose a challenge.

When their gear was loaded onto their backs, Taryn turned around and realized that several dwarves had come to watch. Even Alistair seemed uneasy as they all stood silently, knowing full and well that there were few Grey Wardens who journeyed into the Deep Roads with the intention of leaving again.

Across the way on the bridge to the Proving Grounds, Taryn could see a company of dwarves in plate mail surrounding another that bore a large crown upon his head. King Bhelen raised a hand in silent farewell, and Taryn and Alistair returned the gesture before they turned and entered the dark tunnels.

“Well that was creepy,” Alistair muttered quietly.

As they walked through the tunnel, the light of the city quickly faded behind them. When the darkness became unnavigable, Taryn took her staff in hand and cast a small ball of bright light at the end. They only needed it for a short while until the tunnel opened into the splendid halls of the Deep Roads. Lava flowed in trenches along the walls, casting shadows across the intricately carved stone. Tall pillars rose on each side all the way to the high ceiling, making Taryn feel quite small.

There was no sense of night and day deep within the mountain, so the Wardens continued until they were too weary to walk. They passed through Aeducan Thaig and nearly made it to Caridin’s Cross, by Taryn’s memory. Despite the dangers of the Deep Roads, shelter was relatively easy to come by. One just had to make sure that it wasn’t already inhabited.

The first alcove they had tried to seek shelter in turned out to be infested with giant cave spiders. They dealt with the oversized arachnids, but didn’t particularly feel like camping there afterward.

The second cave they found was vacant, and Taryn used her magic to seal the entrance to keep enemies out. As an extra precaution, she laid out a few wards in case anything tried to get the jump on them. At least this way no one would need to stay up and keep watch.

Pulling a few pieces of firewood from their packs, the small campfire was their only source of light when Taryn extinguished the small ball of glowing magic in her hand. For dinner, they roasted a leg of mutton they had gotten on the surface and boiled potatoes and carrots in a pot. After they finished eating, Taryn was busy sharpening the blade of her staff but Alistair looked restless. They had not said more than a dozen words to one another upon entering the Deep Roads and it seemed that he had finally hit his limit.

“So when are we going to talk about this?” he asked abruptly.

Taryn didn’t bother looking up from her work as she replied, knowing exactly what he was referring to. “There’s nothing to discuss. I’ve told you how I feel.”

Alistair scoffed then, the harsh sound echoing off the walls of the cave. “At least look me in the eye when you lie to my face,” he growled.

Taryn glared up at him, setting her whetstone and staff aside. “What do you want me to say?” she questioned sharply. “We’ve been apart longer than we were together. Our love was young and foolish.”

“So what, it was never real to you?” he shot back.

Taryn felt her temper ignite. “How dare you." Before she could stop herself, the words were spilling from her lips. “Do you have any idea how many nights I cried after the Landsmeet? You were the first love I had ever known, so don’t you dare suggest it meant nothing to me!”

A pained look came to Alistair’s face as his voice softened. “Taryn…”

“No!” she snapped. “I moved on. There’s nothing left.”

“I don’t believe that,” he insisted quietly. “You won’t even try?”

Taryn balked at him. “How can you even say that?” she demanded, “What about your family?”

His gaze turned very serious then. “I love my wife and my children, but that doesn’t mean that I did not think of you every day we were apart.”

Taryn could feel his words fraying the seams of her heart, but her anger and disbelief burned brighter. “No, that’s exactly what it means!” she argued. “You can’t love two people at once.”

“I don’t know how to explain it.” Alistair ran a hand through his hair as he released sigh of frustration. “I did then and I do now.”

Taryn’s chest was painfully tight and she could feel tears pricking at her eyes, threatening to spill down her cheeks. “I will not be an instrument of your infidelity.”

Alistair growled loudly, genuine anger sparking in his eyes. “Damn you, Taryn! Damn you and your honor and your altruism. It has _always_ been what’s stopped you from being happy!” With that, he took his bedroll, crossed to furthest corner of the cave before laying it down and crawling under the blankets, keeping his back to her.

Taryn wanted desperately to lash out, to shout, to cry, to break the earth apart with her magic, but all she could do was sit there as hot tears rolled down her cheeks, staring into the flames. Alistair was right, and she despised that fact with all her heart. Taryn had no doubts about what he had been implying – if she had not made him King then they could have been together. Taryn knew that Alistair had never been thrilled by the idea of becoming King, but she had never imagined that she was one of the reasons.

If there was anything that Taryn had learned on this journey, it was that she _did_ still care for Alistair and always had, but she had buried the feeling deep within herself. Now that it was coming to the surface, it terrified her. Despite how badly she wanted to surrender to it, years of conditioning made her shut it out to protect herself.

Desperate for a distraction from her spiraling thoughts, Taryn pulled out the Chant of Light and opened it to the last page that she had marked. She was almost at the end now, but she needed something to keep her mind occupied. However, the glow of the campfire was far too dim to read by, so she conjured a small ball of light and placed it on a rock beside her.

Taryn glanced in Alistair’s direction for any indication that it disturbed him, but either he didn’t notice or he didn’t care. Wiping the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand, Taryn released a sigh and began reading.

Unfortunately her composure had only been temporary; the heartfelt nature of the notes from her closest friends almost had her in tears several times over. Taryn tried to recall when she had become such a snivelling waif. Still, she continued through the book until there were only a few pages left. Of course Andrin would save his own message for last.

Taryn turned the final verse:

 _I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Fade_  
_For there is no darkness, nor death either, in the Maker’s Light_  
_And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost._

 _Draw your last breath, my friends,_  
_Cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky._  
_Rest at the Maker’s right hand,_  
_And be Forgiven._

At the bottom of the page, Andrin had left his short note, and it read:

_I’ve never known a greater woman. Thank you for everything. I pray that love finds you one last time._

Releasing a deep breath, Taryn closed the book and set it down beside her. She would never know what had given it away, but somehow Andrin must have known about her and Alistair. Doubt began to eat away at her; if Andrin had figured it out, who else might have? Though at this point, she wasn’t sure it really mattered.

Glancing across the cave, Taryn watched Alistair’s chest rise and fall as he slept. Maybe it was Andrin’s words or maybe it was her reluctance to continue lying to herself and Alistair, but Taryn felt something within her shift.

Though she could not be sure whether the Chant of Light spoke true of death – she would not know until she got there – what Taryn did know was that she could not depart without setting things right. If there was a life beyond death, she would not live it with regret – not when she could still help it. Too many years she had wasted with a heart frozen shut, but now Taryn had a chance to breathe life into it one last time.

 ****

The dreams seemed to get worse the further they ventured into the Deep Roads. The Old Gods whispered and called, in voices not heard but felt; like a river current tugging at her legs. Taryn was no longer being hunted by the darkspawn, but instead she was marching among them; a part of the Horde beckoned by the same masters.

There was no dawn to greet her as Taryn awoke, only dim, glowing coals of the neglected campfire. Pulling herself out of her bedroll she glanced over at Alistair who had turned over sometime in his sleep. He had not even bothered to take off his armour and Taryn suspected he would be sore from it – plate mail was not so forgiving as light armour.

Though she still wasn’t sure how to tell him how she felt, Taryn started with breakfast. If tales could be believed, the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. She revived the dying fire and cooked several strips of bacon, taking the last of the Orlesian cheese before sandwiching it between two slices of bread and frying it in the bacon grease.

Alistair stirred from his sleep just as she was hiding the strips of bacon between the layers of bread and melted cheese. Taryn watched him from the corner of her eye as he inhaled deeply, looking her way curiously for a moment before plastering on a neutral face. He was still upset with her.

Taryn took a deep breath and walked over to him with the sandwich still resting in the pan and set it in front of him.

“What’s this?” he asked in a painfully detached tone.

There had to be better words to tell him that she was sorry, but words had always been Andrin’s job. “It’s leftover fondue,” she offered weakly. “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for last night.”

Alistair waved a dismissive hand. “No, no, don’t worry about it. You’ve made yourself clear and I will respect that.” He seemed completely unaware of just how crestfallen she was as he picked up the sandwich and took a bite. “Not bad,” he uttered with a full mouth.

Taryn stood there a moment, her heart straining at the fragile bindings that kept it intact, begging to be heard, but her stubborn mind vehemently refused. Her tongue was caught somewhere in the middle and she mumbled a small “I’m glad,” before retreating back to her corner of the cave. What was wrong with her? She could face down legions of darkspawn and a bleeding Archdemon, but this seemed to vex her?

Alistair interrupted her internal strife. “We should pack up and get moving if we want to reach the Dead Trenches in two days,” he suggested lightly. “Our water supply won’t last much longer.”

Taryn complied wordlessly as she began gathering their supplies. She should have known that it would take more than a cheese sandwich and a lame apology to mend things between them. No, it had to be something strong and meaningful beyond words that would show him just how much she cared – Taryn just didn’t know what. Romance had come to her so naturally back when they had been together, but now it was a foreign, fickle thing that she had only made worse with her own stubborness.

Clearing the rocks away from the entrance, they continued their journey deeper and deeper into the earth beneath the mountains. Every once in a while they encountered a few darkspawn patrols, but nothing they couldn’t easily handle. The place was not as crowded as it had been during the Blight.

As they walked in silence, Taryn wracked her brain for ideas to convey her feelings to Alistair. Down in the Deep Roads she didn’t exactly have a lot of options. Taryn had her magic, a copy of the Chant of Light, and the few rations they had left.

Love poems were certainly a heartfelt gesture, but she dismissed the idea as quickly as it had come – words and whatnot. Maybe there was a possession of hers she could give him? Looking down at her hands, there was a large silver ring on her right hand with a gryphon etched into the surface, and the other bore an enchanted gold band that she wore on her thumb; neither would bear any meaning to him. The only trinket that she still held since the Blight was the Joining pendant that hung on a chain from her neck, tucked beneath her armour. Anything was better than nothing – it would have to do.

They walked until their feet grew sore, stumbling upon a nameless thaig deep in the mountain. To their luck, they found a small house whose walls were still intact and took shelter inside. The place must have been abandoned for centuries, though there were still books on the stone shelves, faded tapestries hanging from the walls and ashes in the hearth.

Taryn touched the spine of one of the books as Alistair was busy lighting a fire in the hearth. The ancient leather crumbled beneath her touch, falling away to reveal pages that had nearly turned to dust. She wondered what secrets the old tomes might have once held, but even if the books had been intact, she had not studied dwarvish since she lived in the Circle.

Alistair seemed to be taking the initiative with dinner, so Taryn continued her exploration of the old home with a glowing light in hand. Even in common dwellings the craftsmanship was exquisite, with intricate designs carved into the walls and furnishings.

Taryn stepped into what must have been a bedroom. There was an empty stone frame where a mattress would once have sat – contrary to popular belief, dwarves did not sleep on benches of stone. A carved chair sat in front of a crumbling wooden vanity with a cracked brass mirror that still hung on the wall above the desk.

Releasing a small sigh, Taryn set the light down on the desk as she pulled her pendant out from her armour. The small glass vial held a meager amount of the dark blood from her Joining, with a tiny gryphon etched into the leather wrapping. Shrugging off her pack, Taryn took a seat on the stone bed, turning the pendant in her hand. As she set the bag down, the Chant of Light tumbled out of an open pocket but she made no move to retrieve it, lost in her thoughts.

There had to be some combination of words that could make the pendant meaningful, but nothing came to her. How had Alistair done it so easily in the past? He had handed her a rose and told her that she was a rare and beautiful thing amongst the darkness. Unfortunately there was no hope of finding a rose in the Deep Roads.

Taryn’s gaze hovered idly over the book on the floor and an idea suddenly struck her. If she could not find a rose then she would have to make one.

Taryn tucked her necklace back into her armour before she snatched up the book and began tearing out pages. She took extra care not to remove any that bore notes from her Wardens. If some pompous Orlesian mage could do it, then so could she: Taryn would make him a paper rose.

Once she gathered a generous supply of paper, Taryn tried to recall just how the mage had begun. Using a telekinetic spell, she started with the stem, twisting a piece of paper until it was sturdy. The Orlesian had begun at the center and worked her way out, so Taryn tore one of the sheets into small pieces before she began manipulating them around the stem.

Her first attempt was crude and hurried, looking like a rose that had been trampled. Taryn tried to shape it further but only made it worse. She broke the spell and let the unworthy flower fall to the ground as she started anew.

This time, she used two sheets for the stem and tried to put a few bends in the stalk to make it look less rigid. Instead of shredding the paper she tried to fold it, but as she worked her way to the outer petals, it only grew more difficult. The end result looked like a crooked twig with a closed bud at the end. It joined the other discard at her feet.

Taryn lost track of time and roses, tearing more and more pages from the book as she strived to get it right. She wasn’t sure when, but somehow constructing a paper rose had become more difficult than ending the Blight.

Adding a leaf to the stem made it look more natural, but the delicate nature of the petals continued to perplex her. Taryn had become so focused on her work that when Alistair poked his head through the doorway it gave her a start, causing her current attempt to come apart and drop to the floor.

Gaping stupidly, it was too late to try and conceal her efforts. Taryn’s disappointment washed over her. If she had only tried harder, it would have been perfect. This one little gesture might have finally shown him just how much he meant to her, but she couldn’t even manage that.

Alistair looked curiously to the flowers at her feet before giving her a questioning look and Taryn dropped her arms at her sides in defeat. “You weren’t supposed to see until I got it right,” she murmured as she glared down at the scattered roses on the floor. “I was going to hand it to you and ask if you knew what it was, like you did for me.”

Taryn looked up at him, his expression unreadable as he moved to sit beside her. Releasing a shuddering sigh, she buried her face in her hands to hide her shame.

There was a hand on her wrist then, and Alistair pulled her arms away before tilting her chin up to look at him. His face was close to hers and she could see the smile toying at the corner of his lips.

“Feeling a little thorny, are we?” he asked softly.

The laugh that bubbled forth from her lips was equal parts relief and elation. There was still a small part of her that instinctively tried to pull away from the feeling, but as Alistair’s arms circled around her shoulders, Taryn collapsed against him and felt her resistance turn to ash.

She could not be sure how long they remained that way, but Alistair eventually pulled back and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. “Come on,” he encouraged, “Lest our dinner burn down our shelter.”

Taryn placed another fleeting kiss on his lips, before offering a small smirk. “Is it possible to burn down a stone house?” she teased.

Alistair rolled his eyes and he tugged her to her feet as he stood. “Let’s not find out.”

**** 

Taryn was sat leaning back against Alistair’s chest with his arms around her waist as they stared into the dancing flames in the hearth. The carved stone walls were bathed in warm, orange light that almost made her forget that they were marching to their end in the depths of the Deep Roads. Sated from their dinner, they spoke in soft voices of their past together and the life they might have had if only things had been different.

Alistair’s breath tickled the back of Taryn’s neck as he whispered. “After you left Denerim, I thought my heart would never stop hurting,” he admitted. “I tried to write you so many times, but your replies - your words pained me.”

Taryn breathed a small chuckle. “So did yours,” she pointed out. “I could not read half of those letters without breaking into tears.” 

She hesitated, unsure if she wanted to disclose this next piece of information, but she did not want to hide any truths from him. “I burned many without even reading them.”

Alistair fell quiet and Taryn immediately regretted her words, squeezing his hand apologetically. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I,” he replied. “I can’t imagine how hard it must have been to receive such letters from the man who had just broken your heart.”

Taryn released a small sigh. “I _am_ sorry if you resent that I made you King,” she offered, “but I would do it again if I had to.”

“I know,” he breathed as he squeezed her a little tighter. “I was angry for a time, but I knew in my heart that it was the right choice. Anora couldn’t exactly be trusted.”

“I was afraid she might send assassins after you,” Taryn admitted. “Even if you had renounced your claim to the throne.”

Alistair’s chest rumbled against her back as he laughed. “Do you think Zevran was jealous enough to accept the job?”

Taryn smirked as she gave a small chuckle. “I told you over and over again that he wasn’t jealous,” she insisted, “He just liked to get under your skin.”

“Cheeky assassin,” Alistair scoffed.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while as the fire gave a small pop every now and then. Taryn wished that they could remain this way forever, but time was something they simply did not have.

The Grey Wardens could sense the presence of darkspawn, but in the Deep Roads it was a constant awareness that surrounded thought and mind. For Taryn it had become a pull – a compulsion drawing her closer and closer to her death. The connection that Wardens shared with the darkspawn was strongest during the Calling.

Glancing down at her hands, the flesh beneath Taryn’s fingernails had begun graying and she knew that her time was almost up. Before long, the necrosis would spread and her mind would decay until she was but a husk of who she once was, and then the compulsion would draw her to the rest of the darkspawn. It was fortunate that they were almost there.

Alistair distracted her from her unpleasant line of thought. “Do you remember the first time we spent the night together?” he whispered against the shell of her ear.

A shiver ran down Taryn’s spine, and she breathed a small laugh as a light blush heated her cheeks. “You were my first,” she reminded him, “How could I forget?”

“I remember being so nervous that my hands were shaking,” Alistair admitted. “But there you were, so calm and collected.”

Taryn shrugged passively. “It was you I was with, so I did not need to be afraid.”

Alistair placed a kiss on the top of her head before leaning forward and resting his chin on her shoulder. The rough stubble of his jaw scratched against her cheek, but it was not unpleasant.

“You were always the strongest of the two of us,” he murmured. “Not bad for a Circle mage.”

Taryn could hear the smile in his voice, but she bumped him lightly with an elbow regardless. “Careful,” she warned as she grinned, “I could still turn you into a toad.”

Alistair rumbled another laugh as he tugged at her hips until she turned around, so she could look into his eyes as she sat across his lap. So much about them was different, but Taryn could only see the things that were the same and it was as though no time had passed at all.

The distance between them vanished as Taryn leaned in and kissed him softly. Alistair’s hand slid to the back of her neck as his lips moved against hers. It was nothing like the heat and desperation of their kiss back at Lake Calenhad. Each touch was gentle and lingering: without urgency but not without passion.

Alistair deepened the kiss and Taryn wove a hand into his hair, pulling him closer. The arm circling her waist tightened and it seemed as though it was all that kept her from floating away. Her heart had never felt so light.

He kissed her breathless and when Taryn finally pulled back for air, his lips moved along her jaw and down her throat. A breathy sigh escaped her at the sensation, his kisses burning like wildfire across her flesh.

Alistair moved back up to look at her again, leaning his forehead against hers. “Taryn Amell, will you spend our last night in Thedas with me?” he asked firmly.

Taryn had expected her old instincts to protest, but it seemed they had finally been consumed by the fire that blazed within her chest. Looking into his eyes, Taryn nodded her head and breathed her reply. “Yes.”

**** 

It had been a long time since Taryn had slept in the embrace of another. Alistair’s bare chest was warm against her back, and with their shared bedroll laid out near the fire she had to poke her feet out of the blankets to compensate for the extra heat. Even in the hottest summers, Taryn could not recall ever feeling so pleasantly warm.

It didn’t stop her nightmares, but whenever they became too violent - causing her to shiver and twitch - the strong arm wrapped around her waist would pull her closer. The nonsense words that Alistair whispered into her ear chased them away and Taryn would fall back into a peaceful sleep once again. The nightmares did not seem to bother him nearly as much, for he did not writhe as she did.

When Taryn woke she remained comfortable in Alistair’s embrace, with his arm strewn across her waist and his deep breaths tickling the back of her neck. Despite the contented feeling in her chest, her thoughts could not help but drift to darker places - it was her last day on earth after all. Today they would die, and it loomed over her like a black storm cloud with cold drizzling rain that chilled to the bone.

Taryn had always bore a healthy respect for death. From all that she had seen throughout the Blight and over the years, she knew that life was as fragile as a candle’s flame, so easily snuffed by a wayward breeze. For Grey Wardens, death was always risk, and one had to learn to accept it or live in fear of it.

Though she had never wanted to die, Taryn did not fear death. In all her battles, an errant swing of a sword or stray arrow could have easily ended her life. She had been sent after by assassins, swarmed by an army of darkspawn, and nearly consumed by demons in a burning tower, but still she had survived. It seemed as though death had been chasing Taryn all her life, and it was strange how much more terrifying it had become now that she was rushing to meet it.

Alistair stirred and released a deep sigh as he pulled Taryn closer to him, nuzzling his face against her neck. His lips ghosted over her skin and the dark clouds quickly dissipated as she released a sigh of her own.

“Can’t we just stay here forever?” he whispered against her neck.

Taryn intertwined her fingers with Alistair’s, giving his hand a light squeeze. “I wish we could,” she replied sadly.

They spoke little as they dressed and ate their last meal. The Dead Trenches were only a two hour hike away, so they did not bother packing up any of their supplies and merely armed themselves for battle. Taryn placed the Chant of Light on the stone shelf amongst the other books and Alistair had taken one of the paper roses and tucked it into his belt. With one last fleeting glance over her shoulder, they left their last safe haven behind.

Taryn could feel her insides jittering with anticipation, but every time she started to grow anxious, Alistair would place a reassuring hand on her shoulder or press a quick kiss to her lips. With their arms linked together, they walked through the tunnels of the Deep Roads until they finally came upon the Dead Trenches.

The fortress of the Legion of the Dead was an impressive sight to behold. It was carved into the rock, with large wooden doors as thick as tree trunks and narrow windows for archers to take aim from. A long bridge spanned the chasm between them and the fortress with darkspawn barring the way.

Taryn could feel her heart in her throat, and Alistair squeezed her hand tightly as he looked over at her. “Are you ready?” he asked.

Inhaling a deep breath, she gathered her courage and nodded sharply. “Yes,” Taryn replied quietly, and they began walking towards the bridge.

A Genlock archer spotted them first, pointing with its stubby arms as it screeched in alarm. The creature only got halfway through loading its crossbow when Taryn sent a stone fist knocking it straight off the bridge and into the darkness below.

The rest of the darkspawn charged and Alistair roared a battle cry as he met them head on. Taryn conjured a protective barrier around each of them before following him into the fray. Spells were flying from her hands faster than she could think of them and any darkspawn that got too close were met with the sharp blade of her staff.

Alistair was battling a tall Hurlock, catching the twisted blade with his shield before deflecting it and sinking his longsword into the beast’s chest. When another darkspawn tried to sneak up on him, Taryn launched a fireball that engulfed the creature in flames.

Another group of darkspawn was charging across the bridge and Taryn rushed to meet them, casting a telepathic blast that knocked several from the bridge, thinning their ranks. Alistair was close behind and the bolt of a crossbow narrowly avoided his head. The darkspawn swarmed him but Taryn was at his side in an instant, hamstringing Hurlock that tried to flank him.

Alistair glanced over his shoulder at her looking a bit surprised, but a smirk quickly twisted across his lips. “I had forgotten how much fun killing darkspawn was,” he quipped.

Taryn merely rolled her eyes as she turned to fire another spell at an approaching Genlock. Even with the shadow of death looming over him, Alistair was still able to make light of things. Somehow it really didn’t surprise her.

Whenever her mana dropped too low, Taryn snatched a lyrium potion from her belt and chugged it down. The surge of energy felt like a blast of cold air in her chest, and Taryn quickly pulled Alistair back before casting a spell that summoned a mighty gale. The wind travelled down the entire length of the bridge, sending several darkspawn tumbling off into the schism.

Taryn grinned smugly as Alistair gaped at the devastation her spell had wrought. “How’s that for a Circle mage?” she boasted.

Alistair laughed as they made their way across the bridge, and any darkspawn that had managed to hold on were swiftly cut down by sword or staff. They made it to the other side of the bridge and the fortress loomed high above them, but more darkspawn were pouring from the tunnels. Their crude armour clattered and clashed, and their dreadful cries echoed off the cave walls.

The two Wardens fought back to back and the pile of corpses only grew as more and more darkspawn threw themselves into the brawl. Before Taryn realized it, she was down to her last lyrium potion, and from his laboured panting, she knew that Alistair was growing weary as well.

Taryn froze three darkspawn with a blast of ice before shattering them with a telekinetic blast, but the sound of Alistair crying out had her spinning about to face him. He was locked in combat with a Hurlock alpha who brandishing a massive war hammer. Alistair struggled to catch each blow with his shield and with a mighty snarl the hammer cracked the wood into splinters.

The force was enough to shatter bones and Alistair howled in pain as he cradled his wrecked arm. Taryn roared in her fury, throwing a rock fist at the alpha and sending it toppling to the ground. There, Alistair was able to slay the wretched beast with a swing of his sword.

Taryn spun back to face the darkspawn behind them, but came face to face with another Hurlock and she didn’t have time to think before she felt cold steel pierce her armour and sink into her gut. For a moment she could not move or think; the pain was blinding and Taryn’s staff clattered to the ground. A grin of razor sharp teeth parted the sickly grey skin of the Hurlock’s rotted lips before it pulled the blade free. Taryn fell to her knees, clutching her stomach to keep her insides from spilling out.

“NO!” Alistair roared from behind her, before attacking the Hurlock.

He cut the creature down, but there were too many darkspawn and Taryn could feel her head growing faint as she failed to staunch the blood flowing between her fingers. With a shaking hand, she pulled the final lyrium potion from her belt and swallowed it down.

In one last desperate surge of power, Taryn cast a spell that drew upon the life-force of each enemy around them, and one by one they dropped. Their energy transferred to her, but it took just as much of it too keep casting until the last darkspawn fell with a crash that echoed through the cavern.

Alistair stood there shocked, panting heavily as his eyes roamed over the carnage. Taryn was astounded that he was still on his feet with a bleeding gash in his forehead, a crossbow bolt embedded in his thigh and his armour stained red by countless unseen wounds. The arm cradled against his body was mangled and broken, and she knew that he had to be in agony.

Taryn was about to lie down on the ground, but Alistair walked over and hauled her to her feet, his eyes filled with concern as his gaze settled on the deep wound in her stomach. He did not lead them far, simply out of the open and into a small alcove along the fortress wall.

Putting her back against the stone, Taryn sunk to the ground, barely feeling the pain of her wound with the state of shock she was in - surely there was more blood outside her body than in it. Alistair sat down beside her, wincing with each movement. Taryn only had a small amount of mana left but she used all of it to take away as much of his pain as she could.

Alistair reacted by shooting her a look of horror and confusion. “Why did you do that?” he asked incredulously.

“I could not heal your wounds,” she assured him, “But you were in pain, and I am not.”

Alistair seemed to relax, nodding as he understood. “Thank you.”

Taryn’s mouth tasted of blood and despite the warmth of the Deep Roads, she soon began to feel the chill of death creeping into her body. This was it; this was what death felt like. Taryn swallowed thickly as she tried not to panic, lest her heart pump out her precious little blood even faster. “Alistair,” she spoke hoarsely before turning to meet his gaze, “I’m afraid.”

A slight smile came to his lips as his warm eyes softened. “I know. That’s why I’m right here beside you.”

Taryn studied him for a moment, and it suddenly dawned on her in the haze of thoughts that drifted through her mind. “It was never your Calling, was it?” she asked quietly.

Alistair’s face was close to hers, and there was no apology in his eyes as he replied. “No.”

Taryn searched his eyes desperately. She could not understand how he could sacrifice the rest of his life like this. “Why?”

Alistair’s good arm wound around hers and he threaded their fingers together as he stared back at her. “You forget that I was a Warden before you. I might have had three more months or three more years, but I could not let you leave this world without knowing how I felt.” He breathed a small laugh as his gaze fell to the floor. “Maybe it’s selfish, but I don’t think that I could have faced my own Calling without you.”

Taryn did not have the will to be angry with him, because she was more glad than she had ever been to have him there with her in this moment. What she had said before was true: she did not need to be afraid when he was there with her, and whatever awaited them in death, they would face it together.

“I love you,” she breathed, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

Alistair smiled as he squeezed her hand tight. “And I love you.”

Taryn leaned her face against the cool armour of his shoulder, and Alistair rested his head atop hers as they both closed their eyes. Releasing a deep sigh, Taryn felt at peace with her love by her side, ready to leave this world for their next adventure.

Hand in hand, the King of Ferelden and the Warden-Commander crossed the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky, together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed my little story! Please leave feedback! I love every comment to little bits!  
> Join my like 2 followers if you're interested.  
> [nova-b0mb](http://nova-b0mb.tumblr.com/)


End file.
